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<title>First Christmases (Spot and Race) by Firecracker_Newsie (Enjolras_The_Survivor)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995523">First Christmases (Spot and Race)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolras_The_Survivor/pseuds/Firecracker_Newsie'>Firecracker_Newsie (Enjolras_The_Survivor)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Era, Christmas, M/M, Pre-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolras_The_Survivor/pseuds/Firecracker_Newsie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Spot &amp; Race's christmases through their lives (canon era)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jack_Francis_Kelly/gifts">Jack_Francis_Kelly</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Race (1 month old, born 25.11.1882)<br/>
The tree is rich and the kitchen full of delicious smells that Race won't learn the names for until he's five and able to 'help' cook, standing on an upturned fruit crate. Race's crib was carved by his dad over many evenings, but he'll never see his son grow up, never see him form a tentative friendship with the King Of Brooklyn, never see him become the leader of Manhattan. That's all in the future though, let's return to baby Race, screaming in his crib. A pair of hands belonging to one of the many miscellaneous relatives scoops him up, making funny sounds at him that he doesn't understand. The hands are warm, and he's soon back asleep. We'll hop over the bridge to Brooklyn.</p><p>Spot (3 months and 3 days, born 22.09.1884)<br/>
Spot screams all the way through midnight mass, falling asleep just as the sermon ends. He's woken up early in the morning, being cuddled by his mother and passed round to Aunty Siobhain, Aunty Erica, Uncle Chris and innumerable other relatives who stayed over. Spot swipes at the baubles on the tree, and tries to bite Uncle Chris' nose during the Christmas meal. Shall we have a look at the other decorations on the tree? It's simply decorated with what the extended Conlon family can make: paper chains intermingled with ceramic baubles that Aunty Erica made from offcuts of her piecework, the pine needles falling onto the floor.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1885 (Race, 3 yrs old)<br/>Tearing open the newspaper - my favourite part of Christmas is the unwrapping - Aunty Erica gave me a ceramic bauble with my name on it. We got a small turkey, and loads of vegetables. I hope they let me pour the gravy - I think three is old enough to be considered a big boy, right? I have to be the man of the house now Dad's gone away for work! Mamma says he's not coming back for a long time, and she had to leave me with Aunty Siobhain for a few days while Dad had a work function. I like work functions, they bring me more food! I told Mamma I wanted to go to the next work function but she said "We'll see" which is basically "No" but nicer. (A/N: Race's family are hiding the fact that his Dad's dead from him.) </p><p>1888 (Spot, 4 yrs old)<br/>Mum and Pa haven't woken up, even after I bounced on their mattress. I knock on my neighbour's door. "Mum and Pa ain't awake, it's Christmas and we ain't gone to mass or anythin', we's going down There" I shudder at the thought. My neighbour (Mrs Kaspr-something?) takes me to church and we don't go home after. We head towards some big gates that have letters on them. Mrs K helps me sound them out. "Orp-hanage. What's one of them, Mrs K?" She tells me there'll be lots of other kids my age and that we can all go and play together, won't that be nice? If I'm scared, she could take me through those gates. "Do't mysel', 'm big boy" She ruffles my hair and walks away, leaving me in front of those big, tall, terrible gates. I'm not going through them, not ever never. Soon as I think she's gone, I run from the gates, veering down paths and alleyways that I'm sure she can't follow me. I bed down at the end of an alleyway, hoping I'll stay warm.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. As a Newsie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Race (5 years old, 1887)<br/>
"Here, it ain't much but we's all thought you should have one of your very own" Race crams the newsboy hat on his head, the brim falling past his eyes. He's a real true newsie now, even though he's been selling for nearly a year! The lodge house is decorated with paper chains made out of unsold newspapers. Their lunch is simple, turkey sandwiches that the nuns give them, but they've got food in their bellies, and a roof over their heads, so they're lucky even if they ain't rich. Who needs money when ya got friends?</p><p>Spot (6 years old, 1890)<br/>
"Spot ain't joinin' us today, he ain't feelin' so good" Meatball announced to the table. Spot had been left in his bunk while the other newsies ate their pottage and rye bread. If the weather held dry, the nuns might make it over the bridge to give them some turkey for supper, but the clouds crowding the sky didn't seem hopeful. Spot was bored, nobody had checked in on him since 5am when they all got up. Spot knew he was sick, he was too hot and he had all these red dots on his body and everywhere. Meatball said to get some rest, but Spot had already slept all night, and had a nap too! In the distance, the church bells chime for Christmas. Spot slid his legs out of bed and crept downstairs, wanting to join in the Christmas games. "Uh-uh, Spot, go back to bed." Spot didn't recognise the voice, feeling the world swim around him before he collapsed. When he woke up, he was somewhere unfamiliar in a room that only had one bed, not bunks. The mattress was so soft and he only heard one word - "measles" - before he was asleep again.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. As a couple</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Here. It's not much, but it's all paid for."</p><p>"A pair of boots with matching laces!"</p><p>"Yeah. You've needed them longer than I've been earning for them. Put 'em on."</p><p>"They FIT! Spot, how?"</p><p>"Got Jack to make a tracing of your feet." Spot rubs the back of his neck, endearingly. He's adorable when we're alone. He finally admitted his feelings last year - 1899 - after the bulls took Crutchie. Of course, I'd already known, but it's nice to be sure of it. "You like them?" I don't bother replying, hugging Spot, my boyfriend, immediately. My boyfriend. Maybe one day, we'll be allowed to be ourselves. Without hiding, running, secrets. Just us. Anyway, Christmas is for happiness. "You're squishing me."</p><p>"Stop being so short." I laugh as Spot glares at me. He's not as scary as the guys downstairs think he is. Most of it's a facade so he doesn't get accused of not being good enough to be a leader. "It's not my fault that Smalls squished me when I was-" He's gone quiet. That means he's accidentally let out a secret. I lay down on the bunk next to him. "You don't gotta tell me if you don't want to." Spot wriggles so his head is on my shoulder. "Smalls is my twin. She squished me before I was born. She's the tall one. Hence why we call her Smalls. Well, that, and the fact that the last guy that tried to call me that, his nose hasn't been the same since."</p><p>"Thank you for trusting me. Merry Christmas, Spot. Here's your present." I really hope he likes it, I got Katherine to help me with it. It's not much, but I tried. "Race, that's..that's..I don't know what to say." I think that's a good speechless? I really hope so. Spot's put the locket on. It's got a picture inside it, of him and his mother. Jack drew the picture, and Katherine loaned me some money to get the locket. She gets half my papes' profit to pay it off, and in 1902, I should be out of debt.</p>
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